


The One Thing We've Got

by janescott



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-12
Updated: 2010-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the  prompt: Kris does not show up at his birthday party, and Adam realizes at last that Kris has moved on from their friendship. Adam is tired of unrequited love, lonely, and has too much to drink at the party. Through it all, Tommy is with him, takes care of him and takes him home, and Adam realizes Tommy has always been there for him. I want a "I want the one I can't have but the one who loves me and is perfect for me has been here all along" story. And no hating on Kris. He is not evil or uncaring, he's just drifted away from Adam as acquaintances do sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Thing We've Got

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by i_bleed_magenta  
> Disclaimer: Nothing herein belongs to me

Adam wakes up to text messages on his birthday; all variations of the same message, but they make him smile.

Twenty-eight, he thinks, a little shocked as he's taken here, there, and everywhere by Lane and Roger – interviews and promotions and what feels like 70 birthday cakes that he is _never_ going to eat.

He's finally feeling kind of almost good about how he looks, and he's not going to fuck it up with a whole lot of sugar.

But Adam smiles through the day; feeling the drag of tiredness pulling at him even before he has to get ready for the party. He has a radio interview near the end of the day, and is shocked and surprised when Neil sort of ... appears in front of him, and Adam feels something lift inside of him, and a new surge of energy.

Once the interview is done and over with – last for the day thank _fuck_, Adam drags a protesting Neil back to his house, and they start the celebrations early with a bottle of wine and childhood reminiscences.

More phone messages; more variations, this time on _see you tonight birthday boy_ and that pulls out the smile that hardly anyone ever sees: wide and bright and unguarded.

Neil's the one who sees the tweet from Tommy: _@adamlambert HAPPY BDAY BABYBOY ;)_, tossing the phone to Adam as he says, "Some day you're going to have to explain that to me."

"Explain what?" Adam asks, distracted as he taps out a quick reply: _@TommyJoeRatliff thnx Glitterbaby!!!_

"The whole ... nickname thing," Neil says, picking up his wine glass and raising his eyebrows.

"Oh. Uh. I'm not sure I even _remember._ I was in New York still. After the bullshit, you know? I was drunk, I think? And Tommy was possibly high. He called me at something like 4 in the morning and we were talking about God-knows-what or Velvet Goldmine-"

"Same thing," Neil mutters into his wine glass – "And somehow it came out of that, and then the tweets happened ..."

"I get it. I think. You're both lame."

"Fuck you, Neil."

Adam's phone buzzes again a little while later with another message: _@adamlambert happy bday buddy! I'll see ya tonight._ and he tries to bite back the smile that's threatening to break out – or at least contain it in a quiet grin, because he knows Neil's eyes are on his face, but it doesn't really work.

"Kris?" Neil asks, and his voice sounds resigned and weary, like he's saying _i love you, man but i am _over_ this shit_ and Adam has to bite back a snappy, defensive response.

"Yeah. Just saying he'll see me tonight at the party," and Adam does try to keep his voice light and expressionless, but he's looking forward to seeing Kris again more than he's willing to admit to.

They haven't hung out for a while; their schedules in constant conflict and yes, okay, Adam kind of hangs on to the memories of the show and of being so close to Kris on the idol tour a little harder than he should, but it's not like he's _hurting_ anyone ...

Sighing he throws his phone down on the table, greeting the inevitable ache in his heart like an old friend.

"Okay," Neil says, his voice neutral.

They spend what's left of the afternoon and early evening before the party bickering over who really painted the dog that time, and no, Adam _didn't_ push Neil out of the tree that time he broke his arm, because he _fell_.

Neil nudges Adam's shoulder between his second and third glass of wine, and halfway through Labyrinth that they'd caught on TV, idly surfing and arguing over the remote.

"Come on, birthday boy. Time to party."

Adam checks his phone and curses. "I gotta change." His phone buzzes with more messages, but he doesn't have time to check them all as he changes – dressing down for his own party after so many days of suits and more suits – and he's ready to _go_.

Nothing fancy, he thinks to himself, dazed as he looks around the room. Just 170 of my closest friends and family. Jesus. Last year it had been ... 10 people, maybe, and he was just about to move into the Idol mansion.

Adam accepts a drink from someone, and smiles, scanning the room. He swallows half of the drink without really tasting it, his eyes lighting up when he sees Anoop and Megan across the room.

He talks and laughs; flirts with pretty boys, keeps half an eye on Allison, who is getting very quietly drunk and periodically checks his phone, telling himself that he is not checking his phone. He's half-blurry with drink when he tries to send a DM to Kris, after reading his tweet: _Getting some rehearsal in tonight for the shows in Asia._

Adam feels long fingers, the tips rough with callouses wrap gently around his wrist and he looks up, blinking in surprise. Tommy's all made up, his eyes soft shades of purple, outlined in black. He looks like an exotic, pretty cat and Adam has to blink a few more times to stop himself from staring.

"Hey," Adam says, as Tommy takes the phone out of his hand and collapses on the couch beside him.

"Happy birthday," Tommy says, distracted by the screen on Adam's phone.

"You know trying to send DMs is a bad idea when you're drunk, right?" Tommy says, tucking his legs under himself and frowning at the screen.

"Kris?" Tommy looks around the room, his eyes searching faces. "He's not here?"

"Not yet," Adam says quietly, leaning his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"I mean – I guess he's maybe not coming? Tweet says he's rehearsing ..." Adam swallows hard and takes another drink, ignoring the first nudge in his side from Tommy. And the second.

On the the third one he turns his head, frowning and irritable. "What?" Adam says, blinking, because he's kind of drunk and the room is tilting a little bit.

"You can't sit here all night getting drunk in the corner staring at your phone. You'll see him tomorrow, right? At that Clive Davis party? Come on," Tommy says, swinging up off the couch and holding out his hand. "It's your birthday. Get wasted, get high, get laid. You're a fucking rock star, now, man. _Act_ like it. You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't."

Adam stares at Tommy's hand for a moment, and considers ignoring him, but ... "Okay, okay, you're right." He lets himself be hauled up off the couch and into the party; letting the people he loves carry him away for the night which turns into a blur of alcohol, music and _fun_.

At the end of the night – which is really early the next morning - Adam finds himself in one of the hotel suites, with just a few old friends left. Brad's lying beside him on the bed, Cassidy's on the floor, leaning against the mattress, looking up at Adam and saying something, he's not sure what. Neil's flat out on the couch nursing a beer, and Tommy's ... Adam sits up when he hears retching coming from the bathroom, but falls back when the room spins a little bit.

He turns his head carefully to see Tommy and Megan coming out, with a very pale Allison between them.

"You okay, baby girl?" Adam asks without moving.

"She's fine," Tommy says. "Got a little carried away is all, and she's not used to it."

Megan carefully props Allison on Tommy's shoulder and comes over to the bed, leaning down to peck Adam lightly on the lips. "I'm going to take her home. Happy birthday, Adam. It was a great night."

That seems to be a signal, and Adam sits back and watches as everybody but Tommy leaves, wishing him happy birthday on their way out the door. Drake hugs him and Adam holds on for a while; Drake is familiar and warm, and smells like oil paint and cologne. He wants to apologise, or say something, but before he can, Drake kisses him, slow and sweet, saying: "I'll call you, cher, okay? Happy birthday. And remember what I said."

Adam smiles into the curve of Drake's neck and says, "Always. I - thanks for coming."

He turns to Tommy, who's kicked off his heavy boots and is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. Adam turns on his side and studies Tommy for a moment. His makeup has smudged and blurred and he's got a slight flush high on his cheeks from the booze. They're close, in the way that people who are thrown together suddenly become close very quickly, and Adam has found they have more in common than he suspected.

The music, of course, but more than that. He's not sure how to define how he feels about Tommy, so he sticks with "friend" because it's easier.

"Sleep," Tommy mutters, closing his eyes.

"Sleep," Adam echoes. "Thanks for - taking care of Allison. I didn't realise how drunk she was."

Tommy shrugs without opening his eyes. "No problem. She's ..." Tommy's voice drifts as he drops off, and Adam turns him as carefully as he can so he's lying on his side; no hassle at all when Tommy weighs nothing.

He curls up on the other side of the bed - facing the opposite wall - and stares at it, images from the past year of his life flashing in his mind until he falls asleep in a tangle of dreams: of Kris and Allison; of Idol; of Drake and the band; and weaving through the dreams like a new constant there's Tommy at the party: taking care of Allison; blending in with Adam's family and friends in a way Adam didn't expect him to.

The last thing Adam sees before he wakes up to a blinding hangover is Tommy holding out his hand the night before, telling him to act like a rock star.

He blinks slowly and moves his head carefully on the pillow. Okay. That's not good, but he manages to sit up. Tommy's still asleep beside him, his arm flung over his head like some kind of shield. Adam checks his phone on the nightstand for the time, and groans. It's mid-afternoon already. Tommy shifts then, stretching out and pressing his hands to his eyes.

"Jesus fuck," he says groggily, flopping on to his back. "I think something died in my mouth. Where the fuck ..." Tommy sits up carefully and stares around the room. Adam watches as the pieces fall into place.

"Oh ... we stayed here last night? Okay."

"Yeah. We stayed here. Or passed out, or whatever. I'm gonna order some room service. You want food?"

Adam watches as Tommy turns pale and slightly green before making a dash for the bathroom. "No, then," Adam mutters, ordering food anyway; and drinks. Mimosas. Why the fuck not? He's still celebrating.

He knocks on the bathroom door and pushes it open as Tommy flushes the toilet and splashes water on his face.

"Better?"

"Uh ... not really? Sorry."

"That's okay. I got food and drinks coming up - hair of the dog and all that."

Tommy nods carefully at him in the mirror, his face pale and smudged with last night's makeup and a little bit shadowy, and says, "Okay. Thanks."

Adam pushes the bathroom door open and they go back into the hotel room, where Tommy curls up in the corner of the couch, carefully holding his head. Adam gets the tray and tips the attendant, silently handing Tommy one of the mimosas before sitting down on the couch beside him.

"Thank you," Adam says quietly, putting his own drink on the table and turning to face Tommy.

"For what?" Tommy asks, resting the glass against his forehead as he turns to sit lengthwise on the couch, stretching out his legs and leaning against the arm.

"Pulling my head out of my ass last night. Making me ... just. Thanks."

Tommy rubs his eyes and takes a cautious sip of his drink. "Sure. Any time you want me to pull your head out of your ass, let me know."

Adam laughs at that and picks up his glass, clinking it against Tommy's, the sharp sound making Tommy wince.

"Sorry," Adam says, laughing again when Tommy pokes his tongue out at him.

"Yeah, well, it's not the first time I've helped you with that, is it," Tommy says, taking another drink and eyeing Adam over the rim of the glass.

"Fuck you," Adam says idly, taking a drink. Tommy's right though, Adam thinks, as a memory from the night after the AMAs flashes through his mind. They'd landed in New York, strung out on adrenaline and a schedule that was starting to become punishing, and Adam couldn't sleep.

He'd gone to Monte first – he'd known Monte the longest and they'd talked for a while until Monte pretty much fell asleep in the middle of a word (something Adam's never let him live down), but he was still restless, and his mind had refused to just – stop. So he'd considered his other options, even as his feet absently led him to Tommy's room.

They hadn't even talked about the performance. Not really. Tommy had ordered tea from room service and they'd just ... talked. But it had helped. Not that Adam regretted the performance (okay, the _singing_ maybe), but just _talking_ made him re-settle back into himself and helped him cope with the madness of the next few days.

"Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises," Tommy mutters, putting his glass on the table, and bringing Adam back to the present with a start. "I'm gonna take a shower, okay? Might as well take advantage of the room while you've still got it."

Adam waves his arm in a mock-grand gesture. "Sure. Take advantage of me all you like," which earns him a middle finger and a laugh as Tommy stumbles towards the bathroom.

Adam nurses his drink and lets his mind drift with the sound of Tommy moving around in the bathroom and turning the water on as a backdrop. Party, he thinks vaguely. Kris. Grammys.

Cabo.

He looks up as Tommy comes out of the bathroom, his clothes from last night rumpled and worse-for-wear; his hair wet and sticking in random strands to his forehead.

"What? You're staring. Got something in my teeth?" Tommy jokes, reaching for his phone when it buzzes with a text alert, before Adam has a chance to answer him.

"Mia," he says, reading the message. "Guess I know what I'm doing tonight."

"Help me up," Adam says, holding out his hand. "I'll drop you off on my way home."

"Free ride? Never turn that down," Tommy says, teasing as he holds out his hand for Adam to haul himself to his feet.

Adam – tired, still hungover and hurting a little – stumbles, and catches himself by planting his hands on Tommy's hips, which – he knows the next thing he's supposed to say is "Sorry," as he puts personal-space distance between them, but instead what comes out is "Come to Cabo with me. With us, I mean."

Tommy's hips are sharp and hot under Adam's fingers, and his eyes – dark and smudged with liner still, framed with long lashes and deep shadows - widen in shock, then amusement.

"Cabo," Tommy repeats, laying his hands over Adam's like he's going to move them, but he just strokes his thumbs over Adam's skin.

"You want me to come on vacation with you and your friends."

And Adam hadn't thought about it – he really hadn't – but now that it's out there ..."Yes. Yeah, I do. I mean – I know it's stupidly short notice, but I want you to come."

"Okay, sure. Why not? My boss is going away anyway, I might as well take a break ..."

"Your _boss_," Adam says, mocking, as he finally – slightly awkwardly – moves his hands and heads towards the door as his phone buzzes.

"Boss says come on. Car's here."

Adam drops Tommy off at Mia's, promising to forward him the info about the holiday. "I'll pick you up, okay? Be _ready_ this time."

"Yeah – totally not my fault we nearly missed the plane that time," Tommy says as he gets out of the car, leaning back in to say: "It was worth it though – watching you run through the airport like that ... did you ever call that guy?"

"Oh, the guy who wanted _your_ number? Funny – no. I never did. Did you?"

Tommy laughs and says, "A gentleman never tells," before ducking out of the car and shutting the door.

Adam presses the button and waits for the window to wind down, sticking his head out and shouting: "That means yes!" as the car pulls out of Mia's driveway, and he feels fourteen as Tommy half-turns, grinning and giving Adam the finger at the same time.

Adam feels light, suddenly, and he finds himself humming as he gets dressed for Clive's party. The first person he runs into is Kara, and he's pleased to see her, but he finds himself searching the large, noisy room as she talks about something he's only half-listening to.

He lets out a breath when he sees Kris across the room, and mentally steps back to examine how he's feeling right now. Tired, mostly, he thinks, after his party, and now tonight, and the Grammys tomorrow ... Cabo can't come soon enough Adam thinks as he watches Kris make his way across the room towards them.

Adam waits for the catch in his breath; the catch in his heart that always happens when he sees Kris, but he's taken by surprise when all he feels is a little ache of worry: Kris looks exhausted; his shirt is too big, and there's a stain on it, Adam notices as he approaches.

He wants to sit Kris down, force him to eat, then sleep and just _talk_ to him. Beyond that ... huh. _maybe that's where the light feeling is coming from_ Adam thinks as he wraps his arms around Kris and realises that – no matter how he feels now – he _misses_ his friend.

They're interrupted by Kara, and a photographer for some media outlet, but are finally able to sit down and Adam rolls his shoulders back, feeling unexpected tension.

"I'm sorry," Kris says suddenly, picking up the beer bottle that a waiter's just put down in front of him and taking a long swallow.

"For what?" Adam asks, tracing a pattern around the base of his wine glass, making the red liquid tremble slightly.

"Last night. Not making it to your party," Kris says.

"You don't need to apologise, Kris. It's fine," Adam says, realising that it's true. It _is_ fine. _If I have any more revelations, I'm going to give myself a headache_ he thinks, before tuning back into what Kris is saying.

"Remember those migraines I used to get? Had a couple on the show ..."

Adam nods, taking an absent drink of his wine, not really tasting it. "I remember." In his mind's eye he sees Kris, bent over the toilet bowl, his face a pale mask of misery. He'd only had a couple, but they had been bad enough to send him crawling to bed for an entire day both times.

They'd come on suddenly, after a couple of stressful results nights, and Adam remembers feeling helpless and confused: wanting to help Kris, but not wanting to get too close because of his own feelings.

"You had one yesterday?"

Kris nods and closes his eyes for a second. "Yeah. Got these new painkillers? Knocked me right out. Nearly missed rehearsal as well. I should have called you, though ..."

Adam reaches over and runs his thumb across the back of Kris's knuckles, waiting for the shiver that always accompanies these tiny touches; but it's very conspicuous by its absence.

"It's fine." And it _is_. Kris still looks kind of ill, and he's not the sort of person to lie about getting sick to dodge an awkward situation.

"Tell me about your trip to Asia."

So they talk, and it's – okay. The silences are a little awkward and Adam finds himself sifting through his life looking for stuff that can be spun out into a longer conversation than just a few inane pleasantries.

Kris seems to be doing the same thing: fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, and offering strained, tired smiles occasionally.

_We were so close_ Adam thinks, propping his head on his hand and resting his elbow on the table, suddenly weary. He doesn't ask himself what happened, because that's a stupid question.

_Life_ happened – for both of them. They'd been thrown together on the show, and got close very quickly, Adam's inconveniently traitorous heart notwithstanding (he refused to call it a crush in his own head. Refused. That made it less real somehow, and however much it was never going to happen, the feelings were still real), and there had been a time – in the mansion, on the tour bus – that they could talk about anything and everything.

Now ... Adam sighs to himself as the silence strains around them with the party as a noisy, almost mocking backdrop.

He mingles and talks; hangs out with Kara for a while, catches up with people he had forgotten he had met before. He keeps half an eye on Kris, who alternates between making half-hearted rounds of the room (he should have brought Katy with him, Adam thinks absently while he's talking to Clive; he does better when Katy's at these things – and even that thought doesn't hurt down deep the way it would have a few months ago), and nursing his beer at the table, looking around the room like he's stumbled into it by accident.

Adam drifts back to the table to retrieve his wine glass and Kris says, "Is it too early for me to go home? Need to get some sleep before we head for Manila."

Adam glances around the room; still full and buzzing. It's a little early, but – "No, you're fine. Go ahead. If anyone asks I'll tell them you have an early flight tomorrow."

Kris nods, and smiles, genuine but weary. "Thanks. I'll ... see you in New York. At the concert."

Adam smiles at that, and says, "I'm looking forward to it," and he means it as he pulls Kris in for another hug before he leaves, and this – this isn't awkward. Hugging Kris still feels the same as it always did, and it gives Adam a little something that he can still hold on to, even though he knows – really knows this time – that he has to move on, for his own sake.

"We should -" Kris says at the same time as Adam says, "Why don't we - " and they both laugh.

Adam absently rubs his hand over his face and says, "Let's try that again. Why don't we have dinner or something. You, me and Allison. Like old times." _Like saying goodbye to old times_ Adam thinks, but doesn't say out loud.

Kris nods in agreement and says, "Sounds great. Uh – night after the show maybe? Will you still be in New York?"

"Yeah. We've got a few gigs, and I'm going to a couple of the fashion week shows. So. Yeah. I'll talk to Lane when I get back from Cabo. See what we can arrange."

Kris leans his hands on the back of his chair and raises his eyebrows at Adam. "Cabo? You're going on vacation?"

Adam shrugs and wonders why he suddenly feels self-conscious about it. "Um. Yeah. Just. For a few days you know? I need – I need a break."

"Well – enjoy, man. You deserve it," Kris says, and Adam finds himself wrapped in another close hug, and then Kris is gone, melting into the crowd as he makes his way to the door.

The Grammys come and go in a blur of nerves, and Adam wonders what it would be like to be performing instead of doing red carpet stuff. Maybe next year, he thinks vaguely as he boards the plane for Cabo with his friends – and Tommy.

They settle in their seats; Tommy wordlessly taking the window because he knows Adam prefers to be in the aisle seat so he can stretch out his legs if he needs to, and Adam automatically waits for Tommy to take the window seat, because he knows that Tommy likes looking out the window when the plane is taking off.

Little things, he thinks, doing up his seatbelt and half-listening to the safety spiel. Little things that weave in and out of your life: like how he'll always know how Kris takes his coffee in the morning; and that Brad refuses to drink certain brands of wine; or that Drake only likes one kind of tea; and now he's building a little mental folder for Tommy as well: there's the airplane seating thing for a start, which was one of the first things Adam learned.

Then there's the fact that Tommy never eats breakfast, and seems to live on junk food and energy drinks. The fact that he still feels self-conscious riding in the back seat of town cars; and that fame is sudden and startling; and sometimes scary.

Lots of things Adam thinks vaguely after the seatbelt sign is switched off, and Tommy curls up in his seat, resting his head on Adam's shoulder. Big things and little things.

"You good?" Adam asks, staring past Tommy out of the window.

"Mmmhmm. 'M good," Tommy says, lazy and slow, his eyes half-closed, like he's kicked into vacation mode already, and Adam _envies_ that. He still feels a little wound up, like a guitar string that's been tuned too tight, but with Tommy warm – and _there_ against him, he feels some of the seemingly permanent tension leach out of his shoulders.

And that night – after they've all got drunk celebrating the break and eaten too much – when Tommy comes to Adam's room, his dark eyes more focused than they should be for the amount he's had to drink and he kisses Adam for the first time - Adam never counts the AMAs as their first kiss: for show is a very different thing than behind closed doors - his mouth tasting salty and slightly sour from the tequila – Adam relaxes properly for the first time in months.

The next morning (afternoon really) when Adam wakes up and sees Tommy still there – sprawled out naked in the bed, the sun striping bright yellow across his back - all Adam can do is lean down and taste the warm skin: smooth under his mouth.

Tommy wakes up curving and stretching like a cat; unconsciously graceful as he turns his head, smiling and blinking slowly.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Adam says, smoothing his hand down Tommy's back, lingering on the patch of skin warmed by the sun.

They should talk, he supposes. Maybe when the sun isn't hitting Tommy just that way; or when Tommy's not looking at him like that, and clambering over the bed until he's face to face with Adam, sliding one slender leg over Adam's thigh.

Adam lays a hand on the small of Tommy's back – just resting it there; not pulling him in or anything. It's nice, he finds, to just ... lie.

Tommy also has this weird mind-reading trick, and Adam doesn't know whether it comes from their spending so much time together, or whether Tommy's just unusually perceptive.

"You want to talk? About – this?" Tommy asks, even as he moves closer and starts sliding his hands over Adam's skin, trailing over his back with his fingertips, which are just rough enough to pull a tiny shiver out of Adam. "About ... bringing me to Cabo, and Kris, and ... I don't know - all of it?"

Adam laughs a little at that and says, "I guess? But -" he bites his lip then, because what he wants to say is _not now, not here. Not in the sun with the beach right outside. Not in this ... suspension of the real world_

Tommy kisses him then, shifting forward so they're pressed skin-to-skin; his hand tangled in Adam's hair; thick and soft without a pile of product keeping it in place. All Adam can do in return is hold Tommy tighter and kiss him back; a little harder, as his hands roam and his hips rock forward in a slow rhythm.

Tommy breaks the kiss first, biting at Adam's lower lip and smiling. "New York," he says, breathless. "We can talk when we get to New York. We're on vacation."

"New York," Adam repeats, finding himself a little dazed, and trying to stop himself from falling too fast. He studies Tommy's face again, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone and resting his hand on Tommy's neck.

Adam's a little afraid to hope - hope is fragile, and can be a bitch, just like fate, he knows. Vacation is one thing, after all, and real life? Especially _his_ life – is something else altogether.

"Yeah;" Tommy says again, lying back and pulling Adam down on top of him, wrapping his arms and legs around Adam's body. "New York. We got better things to do here."

And because life isn't tidy, it isn't always perfect – sometimes it's downright _messy_ \- they completely fail to talk at all, but still manage to make it work somehow.

And in New York – after the show, and a slightly awkward but still fun dinner with Kris and Allison – Adam goes back to his hotel room and Tommy's there, listening to music and surfing on Adam's laptop, looking like he _belongs_.

As Adam closes the laptop lid and Tommy sets it aside, pulling Adam down by his shirt, leaning up for a kiss, Adam realises that messy as it's going to be sometimes, there's nowhere else he would rather be, and no-one else he'd rather be on this road with.


End file.
